


Conquest's Eve

by Golvio



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Beast Ganon, Character Study, Domestic, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 07:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5197778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Golvio/pseuds/Golvio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the day before his speech, Ghirahim convinces Ganon to take the rest of the day off for a quiet evening at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conquest's Eve

It had only been a few minutes since Ganon had finished his screaming tirade at the poor soul who guarded the gate.

Ghirahim had overheard it, of course. He overheard a lot of things, how could he not? Apparently the poor fool had thought he could slip out to light a cigarette while he was on duty. Ganon had spotted him returning through the window, upon which he rung the gatehouse through the crystal transmitter and laid into the object of his frustration. And he had done so loudly enough that anyone standing outside could hear him through the glass as clearly as if he were sitting right next to them. _How can you slack off when war is coming? The Hylians are at our borders and you abandon your duties for a smoke? I ought to have you sent to the dungeons! I ought to run you into the tunnels and leave you for the wandering dead!_ The usual litany of colorful threats. Practically all of the castle staff had heard it at least once during their first few weeks to the point where it was almost a rite of passage; afterwards they either quickly shaped up to the king’s standards and were spared from an encore performance, or were quickly dismissed. He loved the litany. Sometimes Ghirahim would deliver it in his husband’s place if he wasn’t feeling up to it.

And that was what a king should be: adored by his allies, but still capable of striking fear into the hearts of both his foes and any incompetents working beneath him. Ghirahim would have thought nothing of this matter had it been an isolated incident. Ganon had been reciting the litany more and more these days, often for the most miniscule infringements. And he had refused to leave his chambers since yesterday, even denying Ghirahim entry. In fact, his husband’s increasingly erratic behavior had been the reason for this afternoon outing. The big white box wrapped in a golden ribbon which he now carried under his arm was proof that his expedition had been successful. But this box was not merely a gift bought on a whim. It was a piece of the carefully coordinated maneuver that he was about to implement to get to the bottom of this matter. For tomorrow was Conquest Day. The king was set to address his subjects on the anniversary of his most glorious retaking of the capital of his ancient empire from Hyrulean interlopers, and he could not do so if the tiniest mistake sent him into a screaming fit. As much as Ghirahim enjoyed the sound of his beloved’s wrathful bellowing, something had to be done.

The trembling guard snapped to attention and saluted at the sight of Prince Consort Ghirahim. He flashed a parade-worthy smile in return. Perhaps there was hope for the boy yet. As he passed through the entrance hall and made his way into the castle’s heart, each and every servant, attendant, and soldier paused in their preparations for Conquest Day to pay their respects, and he smiled and nodded at them in turn. Finally he reached the long spiral staircase which led to the king’s quarters and began to ascend it.

Now that he was no longer surrounded by servants, he could feel the smile slipping from the corners of his mouth. An outsider would see his frown as a sign of annoyance, but to him it was a relief. He assumed this was what it felt like for his husband when he stepped out of his skin, something that had been constricting him for so long that he had almost forgotten it was there, until suddenly it was loosened and he could breathe again. Ganon knew he meant nothing by it. In fact, his neutral expression meant quite the opposite; Ghirahim smiled at everyone else, he only let down the mask for his husband.

As he reached the massive oaken doors he paused. The contents of the box would only be effective if revealed at the most opportune moment. And so, with a snap of his fingers, Ghirahim temporarily banished the box to his own personal pocket of interdimensional space. He reached for the doorknocker, but then paused again. With yet another snap of his fingers, he summoned a small hand mirror from said interdimensional space pocket, and then used it to make sure his hair was in place and his makeup hadn’t been smudged. Satisfied with his appearance, he dismissed the mirror and gripped the bronze handle, swinging it to deliver three sharp knocks. The door’s enchantment sensed that the presence before it was a friend to its caster and let him inside.

Ghirahim was greeted by an opulently furnished but empty room and the distant sound of scratching. He strode through the enormous sitting room to the office door on the other side, which was slightly ajar. Peeking inside, he saw that Ganon hadn’t even bothered to use his second skin to assume his usual human appearance. Hunched over the desk that seemed comically small for him, he gripped a tiny pen in his massive clawed fingers, attempting to sign on a few documents as best he could. Signatures, at least, did not require neatness, or even necessarily the ability to read the miniscule print on the document itself. He was wearing his ceremonial armor as if he’d made a half-hearted attempt to look presentable should someone come calling, but he hadn’t even bothered to put on his cape and two-thirds of the clasps on his side were left unfastened. The huge red stone through which he had called the gatehouse to make his displeasure known still sat on the desk.

Ghirahim knocked lightly on the side of the doorframe. Ganon darted around, eyes wide, and then sharply inhaled when he saw who it was.

“I did not call you,” he rumbled.

“No, you did not, but I decided to drop by anyways. I haven’t seen you for two entire days and I wanted to make sure you hadn’t dropped dead in your office.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you. My reasons for not appearing before you are far more mundane.”

“As mundane as yelling at guard for standing three feet away from his post?”

The king groaned.

“That was an accident,” he said, “a momentary lapse in judgment. It will not happen again.”

“Like all the times you’ve yelled at every other guard on the front gate shift this week?”

Ganon slammed his fist on the desk. “I have been busy! I don’t have time to sit around and chat with you!”

“Well, what a coincidence! I’ve been busy, too.”

“You don’t understand, Ghirahim. My speech for Conquest Day-”

“I have it right here.” He snapped his fingers and produced a stack of papers from thin air. “I’ve already made all the alterations you requested at the beginning of the week, but we can look over it together if it would make you feel better.”

“The meeting in the Red Room-”

“Captain Vargus is handling that. I’ve already briefed her. There’s nothing you know about the feral Redead infestation in the lower tunnels that she doesn’t.”

“The reception for the delegates-”

“Four rooms, marigolds, and fried shrimp, just like you asked.”

Ganon seemed a bit taken aback. He racked his brain for any excuse to send Ghirahim away.

“What about-”

“Sir, whatever other duties you had, I’ve handled. If any emergencies come up, everyone of note in the castle has a direct line to me,” he gently tapped the large blue crystal that dangled from his ear, “and I can pass them on to you if need be. But right now, what _you_ need is to give all this a rest.”

“But-”

“Do you want to have another long-distance meltdown, or do you want to return to your post with a clear head?”

Ghirahim paced towards the office’s window, one hand behind his back. After peering out over their city for a few seconds, he spoke.

“Sir, may I be bold enough as to make a suggestion?”

Ganon sighed. He had buried his head in his hands, trying to massage a burgeoning headache out of his temples.

“All right,” he muttered, “Let’s hear it.”

“Let’s take the rest of the day off.”

At this, Ganon jerked out of his chair.

“I cannot abandon my duties. It is shameful, that outburst was shameful, everything-”

“Sir, tomorrow is Conquest Day. Everyone else in the castle will have their day off, why not you? You can afford to stop working a little early. You don’t even need to show up for tomorrow’s speech in person, we can just do it on the air. Have a few phantoms bring the citywide crystal transmitter and some microphones up from the lab. You won’t even have to change out of your bathrobe. Hell, do the speech naked. Nobody’s going to know.”

At that mental image, Ganon began to chuckle. It seemed his headache had begun to subside.

“Ah! There you are! Feeling a little less dour, are we?”

Gently he reached out to touch his husband’s face, caressing the flesh of his jowls. He didn’t pull back and growl at him, a sign that he didn’t mind. Ghirahim began to move his hands in a circular motion across the beast’s neck, careful to avoid his windpipe. The tightly clenched muscles in the monster’s jaw slackened somewhat.

“There we are now, there we are,” whispered Ghirahim.

The beast let out a deep sigh, shifting the weight of his enormous bulk to one side. The aim of this wasn’t to make him relax so much that he dropped, not yet. What he needed was to calm down enough that he’d regain his appetite. He’d been so anxious these past few days that he’d been forgetting to eat, and he was an absolute nightmare to deal with when he was hungry, even if he didn’t actually realize he was hungry at the time. Hunger would either ratchet up his nerves to a constant state of shrill, subdued panic, or he’d become irritable and insufferable, grumbling in the corner and snapping at anyone who got too close.

“Fine,” the beast hissed, “If this is what it’ll take to get you off my back.”

“I knew you would come to see reason.”

“Ghirahim?”

“Yes?”

“Send an order downstairs for dinner. I know it’s early, but I’m feeling a bit peckish.”

Of course, he was a bit beyond peckish by the time the first course was brought in. The moment he caught its scent from down the hall he began to salivate, his pupil-less eyes glittering with greed.

The phantoms, faceless, came in. Each of them was a testament to Ganon’s skill with alchemy; fully-functioning golems whose bodies consisted of a finely processed gelatin made from Ganon’s own blood. Since they were crafted from a part of him, they responded to his commands telepathically, and in a pinch, could serve as substitute bodies to house his spirit. They made for excellent soldiers, spies, and in this case, servants. In fact, they were the only sorts of servants Ganon ever trusted within his personal quarters. Maids moved beneath their employers’ notice, and thus made perfect spies for the enemy. And now they came in with trays full of every single sweetmeat, soup, and salad that one could possibly desire. The second the first dish was placed before him, Ganon was upon it. Ghirahim sat on a corner at the other end of the table and read his copy of that year’s fencing manual, but he occasionally looked up to observe his companion.

At first he had been ashamed to eat in front of Ghirahim. During the initial months of their first year together, Ganon had tried to hide as much of his more bestial habits as he could. But at the point where he began to feel comfortable letting Ghirahim touch him, he began to relax and give in to his baser instincts. Ghirahim never minded much. In fact, he found the process somewhat fascinating. He’d never had the need to eat himself, nor did he wish to, but it delighted him to watch his beloved partake in something which brought him such pleasure. There was an almost mechanical rhythm to his motions and the way he’d wipe his mouth with his napkin after every few mouthfuls. It was also impressive how he could eat so voraciously, and yet not a drop of what he consumed ended up anywhere but around his lips. There were little things he did to quickly savor each morsel before devouring it. He ran his bluish black tongue across a leg of mutton before sinking his teeth into it, hesitated a bit between each swallow of soup, sucked the juice out of an apple before hollowing it to its core. It was both the luxury of taste and the sensation of fullness he was after. Ghirahim even let him guzzle a few extra glasses of wine to help soothe his nerves. It wasn’t like he’d have to get up early tomorrow.

By dessert he’d slowed down somewhat. He mostly ate because it was in front of him, eager for sweetness and not quite satiated. Ghirahim spotted his chance. Quietly he willed the white box back into existence, then hid it behind his back. He navigated the maze of empty plates across the table, careful not to step on anything lest he ruin his best pair of tights, until he was before the king. Ganon smelled the box’s contents before he saw it; his ears perked up, and he immediately turned his attention towards Ghirahim.

“I have a surprise for you,” he said, as he shifted the box coyly behind his back, “But then again, you’ve already guessed what it is by now, haven’t you?”

He produced the box and opened it to reveal chocolates arranged in neat little circles, lined up by color in black, brown, and white. They were from a chocolatier back in Hyrule, his husband’s favorite, but the recent escalation had made travel between the underworld and the surface fraught with danger, making them difficult to acquire. Upon seeing them, his mouth split wide into a grin, his sharp teeth glittering like a drawer full of knives, and he snatched the box from Ghirahim’s hands. He popped each chocolate into his mouth one at a time, rolled them around the inside of his mouth with his tongue, letting them melt before swallowing and moving on to another. When he was done, he pushed himself back from the table to stretch his legs, revealing his hooves, which were almost comically small and dainty compared to the rest of his enormous body. He licked his lips, satisfied.

But now that his instincts were out of the way, he began to come back to himself.

“Where did you even get those?” he asked.

“One of our double-agents in the Princess’ border patrol. They’d been confiscated earlier from someone who had a similar idea. I made some…arrangements to acquire them.” Ghirahim sat down, dangling his legs over the table’s edge.

“Hn. Wait, you didn’t draw from the royal coffers for that bribe, did you?” Ganon sat up somewhat. Ghirahim could see his eyes flickering back and forth, as if he were counting the little red numbers on the budget in his head as he simultaneously spun a tale to cover up the money’s absence should the Minister of Finance ask where that few thousand rupees went.

“Of course not. I used my own funds.”

“Your own-Ghirahim! I told you to use that to get yourself something nice! What are you doing wasting it all on me for?”

“Usually you provide me with these sorts of gifts in the busy weeks. As of late, I’ve begun to suspect that these gifts are less about my own desires and more about assuaging your own guilt at forsaking me. I can forgive being busy, but lately you won’t even let me attend meetings with you. You just hand me a bag of rupees and shoo me away. This is very unlike you. As your husband, I’m concerned. And as your right hand man, I’m absolutely outraged.”

Ganon’s face darkened into a scowl. “I wanted you to have a life outside of me, to make friends and find something else to do with yourself. And yet you insist upon clinging to me at every waking moment, following me like a shadow, playing footman!”

“Since when did ‘a life outside of you’ come to mean ‘a life without you?’ You haven’t exactly been doing this out of the goodness of your heart.”

Ganon leaned closer, teeth bared, the bristles on the back of his neck raised in irritation. His intent was to intimidate, but Ghirahim beat him to the punch, catching the beast’s snout within his palm and giving it a soft squeeze, making him squeal in surprise.

“You have been avoiding me,” said Ghirahim, “Why?”

Ganon growled and pulled himself out of Ghirahim’s grip. He heaved himself out of his seat with a grunt and shuffled away with a stiff, waddling gait due to his distended stomach, which he’d had to unclasp the other side of his armor to accommodate. “Draw a bath,” he barked to one of the silently waiting phantoms, “Make sure it’s warm.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” Ghirahim shouted after him, but Ganon responded only with a slam of the bathroom door.

Phase One of his plan had proven to be an absolute disaster. But there was still a chance of getting Ganon to crack. After a meal like that, his husband would have to sleep it off, but he hated even the idea of dirtying his own bedsheets with a whole day’s worth of accumulated dirt, oil, and dead skin. From behind the door Ghirahim could hear the sound of a bath being drawn and the clanking of bottles: rose oil for scent, and the dozens of creams and tinctures Ganon used to keep his skin from drying out. After his daily bath he was usually much calmer. He could try again then, all he had to do now was find a way to keep himself occupied.

Ghirahim hopped down from the table onto a chair and then down to the floor. When he reentered the sitting room, he clicked his tongue against his teeth upon spotting the empty fireplace. Of course Ganon wanted his bath warm; whatever had been on his mind vexed him so that he had forgotten to light a fire. The royal chambers may have had the best view of the entire city, but since they were the closest dwelling to the surface the temperature was not as high as down below, especially during the winter. As a creature of steel and spirit, Ghirahim didn’t mind the chill, but Ganon was flesh and blood. Despite his immense power and ability, he was sensitive to changes in the air and at the mercy of the needs of his body just like any other mother-born being. He walked over to the mantle and pulled several logs from the pile in the nearby bronze tray. Once he’d arranged them to his liking, he snapped his fingers, and a wisp of flickering flame appeared in his palm. With that, he set the wood alight. The room now glowed with a hue of warm, welcoming orange. Ghirahim sat cross-legged before the flames, chin in his hands, letting the shapes in the flames tease at his memory and carry his mind to another time and place.

Ganon loved being doted upon, although he always seemed to feel the need to pretend that he didn’t. Always the impermeable wall, the iron fist, the cold stare from across the throne room with him, at least in public. He had to. He was the king, and a king must give the impression of unwavering strength and authority in everything he did. But Ghirahim knew better. A man could not be a king at every waking moment. It would either drive him mad or exhaust him into collapse. The need for comfort was visible in all beings born of their parents’ flesh. He’d noticed this with the lovers he’d taken before he met his husband. Demon, human, and everything in between, all had sought the embrace of a warm body and a few reassuring words. It didn’t matter to them if the body’s movements were rehearsed, the words known by rote, as long as they were what they wanted to see and hear.

It was not out of malice that he pretended. The tender touch that lovers expected and the gentle words did not come naturally to him and needed to be practiced. Perhaps it was because he had never known what it was like to spend the first year of one’s existence enveloped in warmth and darkness, brought into the world to be embraced. Instead he was taken from the heart of a meteorite, heated and poured into a forge, and then pounded into shape. That act of shaping informed everything he did from then on. He was shaped by the actions of others upon him, whether it was his Master’s words of praise or condemnation, or the way his adoptive siblings, born from torn-out pieces of the Master’s own body, looked at him and whispered behind the Master’s back. He moved among beings whose thoughts and habits made no sense to him, who did not share the feelings and experiences of his own body. Over the years he realized that the intent behind his actions did not matter, so long as he was able to perform the movements and mannerisms they’d expected of him convincingly enough. Since nobody could see into his heart, they could not tell him that those words, those actions were meant to be born from feeling. For the longest time, he thought the action _was_ the feeling. And so he moved through the world in a state of perpetual bemusement and confusion, apart from the rare moments when his ire was raised or his heart sank into the beginnings of genuine sorrow. For the longest time, he thought that love was merely a coy glance exchanged across a room, a caress against their back which brought shivers of delight, the act of wrapping oneself around another in the dark. But he’d never gone beyond that, none of them had ever asked him to. Either they grew tired of him and moved on to someone new, or they would begin to act in ways which confused him, demanding he spend time with them and no one else, to make plans he felt no investment in, and then he would leave without a word. He would stay while it was entertaining, and then go when it wasn’t. He had not known what it was like to truly care.

What he did not realize was that love was not merely a single string of actions. It was an entire spectrum of feeling that spanned from the euphoric to the painful. Love was not only found in banter and stolen kisses, but in the baring of one’s heart to another. Ganon had been the first person who looked past Ghirahim’s routines and scripts, the first person who had ever asked him how he was feeling, rather than merely seeing the surface and being satisfied, and the first person who had actually sat Ghirahim down and explained things to him instead of assuming he thought just like everyone else. And then there was the mounting ache that set in when the one who was so loved could not be present, a pain which spread through his body like an illness and chained him to the man he would call husband. And when he thought that death had stolen his heart’s desire from him the way it had stolen his Master, that missing and wanting and waiting had gnawed at his heart unbearably, to the point where he had forsaken his siblings and their vision of their race’s legacy and cast his lot with this creature, no longer human, but not quite demon. Although the people above loved to whisper that he was the Demons’ king. Oh what a laugh it would be if Malladus and the Chancellor who pulled his strings could hear that! That this man had surpassed their attempts at claiming the Triforce and rebuilding their Master’s fallen empire in their own image, this man armed with only his cunning and magic augmented by the fragment of his Master’s essence nestled within his soul, would have sent them into conniptions. Yes, this beautiful, glittering city his husband had built underground was his home now, and its people were his subjects, too. He felt a swell of pride whenever they showed themselves superior to those who had fled to the center of the earth and abandoned the Master after Hylia had bound him, those spoiled and ungrateful children who had twisted Demise’s legacy and creations to their own selfish ends.

He was here because he wanted to be. He was still playing a role to an extent, but it was his favorite out of every one he’d played in his entire career. And for once he was not doing this out of a sense of obligation or because it was what others expected of him. If anything, everyone else expected him to leave, either because he was a demon and still considered suspect, or because, when not in his human form, his husband did not fit what most humans found attractive (although that was an opinion with which their Moblin subjects would most certainly disagree). In fact, it was when he was like this, when he wasn’t pretending to be the embodiment of kingly perfection, that Ghirahim enjoyed himself most. He loved their arguments, he loved the way his husband roughhoused but then acted like a delicate flower when Ghirahim got the upper hand to try to get him off his guard, he loved the mornings when he couldn’t get out of bed and had to be convinced to move with force or with breakfast, he loved sitting with him in front of the fireplace listening to the radio when he was so fed up with dealing with other people that he couldn’t even carry a conversation. The rewards were not always obvious to others, but they were there.

The bathroom door creaked open and Ganon finally emerged. He was much bigger now that he wasn’t squeezed into his armor. It had been molded and shaped to give the impression that he was merely barrel-chested, and his well-muscled shoulders and forearms contributed to the effect. Now he was wrapped in nothing more than a cotton bathrobe, revealing the true extent of his rotundity and making it hard to deny that life in the royal quarters had been quite good to him.

His anger was gone, and his cheeks were flushed a slight purple as the wine had begun to take effect, but now his eyes were full of shame. Without a word, he lumbered towards the bedroom on all fours, dropping all pretense of humanity. Beneath the tightly wound bathrobe, Ghirahim could see the fat on his waist and back shift and wobble as he moved. He removed his cape and deposited it upon a nearby coat rack, and then followed him towards the bedroom.

“Please just tell me what’s wrong. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His husband refused to even look at him.

“Was it something I did?”

“No, it wasn’t you.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Can we just…not talk about this until tomorrow? I’m tired. You said you wanted me to rest, so let me rest.” With that, he opened the door into his bedchamber.

What was in the room wasn’t a bed so much as a nest hollowed out into the floor. The bottom and sides were padded and the whole floor was filled with cushions. Curtains were draped over the little nest, but more for the owner’s peace of mind than any actual pretense at privacy. Ganon felt safer when he was covered and closed in. The beast now scooped up the colorful cushions scattered around the bed into his great arms and shoved them into a pile towards the wall that he could lounge in, pushing down on them with his knuckles to test their softness until he was satisfied. He dragged several blankets from the far corner of the room and wrapped himself in them like a garish cloak, and then he rolled onto his back, leaning his head against the wall of pillows. He stretched his arms and yawned so wide that one could see both rows of sharp teeth all the way to purple flesh of his gum line, his tongue lolling out. Then he crossed his arms over his enormous belly and stared up at the ceiling as if deep in thought.

He would have to adjust his strategy to get Ganon to open up to him. If he ended up having to spend the next day clinging to his husband’s side like a parasite as he went about his daily business, he would do so. Their disagreements came down to a battle of wills and a test of stamina, usually ending when one of them finally either grew fed up or made the other laugh. But still, tonight’s failure stung. He would have to take a stroll through town to think about things, regroup, and prepare another strategy. But as he turned to leave, a voice rang out in the darkness.

“Come here.”

Ganon’s caving in so suddenly was unexpected, and the sudden tenderness in his voice contrasted sharply with his earlier manner, but it made Ghirahim’s job easier. He materialized a handkerchief and wiped off his makeup as best as he could before approaching to avoid getting it all over Ganon and ruining his clean skin.

The fabric of the blankets gave Ghirahim plenty of footholds to climb, and he was light enough to clamber up without hurting him. At least, he was most of the time.

“Careful,” the beast growled, “careful.”

Ghirahim continued his clambering; now taking care not to knee his husband in the stomach a second time. He was still digesting, after all.

Beneath that layer of flesh was a solid core of pure muscle. It was almost a relief when he started putting on weight after they’d gotten married; resting on him became much more comfortable. Ganon had been upset when he noticed it happening, partly out of his natural vanity, and partly because he feared it was a sign he was losing his edge. Ghirahim had told him that, if anything, it was a good sign about their union; his husband’s uneven appetite prior to their meeting was out of overall stress and the fact that he’d hated being in his true body for longer than a day at a time, leading him to inadvertently starve himself. If anything, it was a testament to Ghirahim’s abilities as a spouse. He was glad for this, as marriage, let alone a relationship such as the one Ganon had asked for when they first began properly living together, was a concept altogether new to him. And marriage to a respectable man, let alone one he had such fondness for, had been beyond Ghirahim’s hopes as a being of his position for most of his life. Even in his wildest imaginings he’d never seen himself as Prince Consort to anyone.

He undid his white gloves and let his glamour slip. He watched as the black spread over his arms, the tips of his fingers sharpening into points. Gently, he began to press those points into the flesh of Ganon’s exposed chest, not hard enough to break the skin, but just enough to dimple it so that he could feel their pressure.

“No,” the beast rumbled, “Not tonight. That’s enough.”

Ghrahim flipped himself over and sighed, hoping that Ganon would take the hint. He wasn’t one to push, he knew better than that. What he wanted to make known was that while he would respect his husband’s boundaries, he was not planning on leaving any time soon.

For a while, they laid together in silence. It was Ganon who spoke first.

“What will happen to us?”

“Sir?”

“She is gathering her armies,” Ganon whispered, “I see the signs. They’re coming for me.”

“Is it the unrest at our borders that’s troubling you?” Ghirahim flipped back over to bring himself face to face with his husband, “There have been skirmishes, but no sightings of the Princess’ favorite knight, not yet.” At this, he began to swing his legs idly behind him. “She’s probably sent him off to the countryside to dig up some relic or other.”

“They are coming. And nobody notices. Nobody cares. I won’t be able to stop them when they do.”

The guard at the gate. The main entrance to the palace. Of course he would direct his attention and his ire at that poor boy, the gatekeeper of his home, when there were signs that the cycle of the curse was about to begin anew. The pieces were beginning to fall into place.

“What have you to fear? You are the man who cheated death. You’ll come back, and you’ll conquer your empire all over again. Eventually you will have to face the Hero, but that time is not right now. Right now you are here, safe in your quarters, wrapped up in a blanket, and I am with you. And if the Princess, her little puppet, and the entire Hyrulian Royal Guard were to crash through our windows right now, rest assured I would slit all of their throats before they got within three yards of you.”

Ganon chuckled, heaving Ghirahim slightly with the sudden motion of his body. “You would say that.”

“Of course I would, because it’s true. I won’t let them lay a finger on you as long as there’s life in my body.”

“And what if…there wasn’t?”

Ghirahim’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the line of questioning he was expecting. Wasn’t his husband scared that he would die again and render all his efforts naught?

“What if something were to happen to you?”

For a moment, Ghirahim could say nothing. He had no reply on hand. No idea of what Ganon wanted him to say, what would put him at ease. He was prepared to lay down his life for his beloved, as he once had been for his Master. The willingness to sacrifice himself was forged into the iron of his very being. But Ganon was afraid, not for his own life, but for _his_. The idea that he would be mourned, that Ganon might consider his own life lesser without Ghirahim in it, simply had not occurred to him.

“What if something happens to you, and I’m left alone again?”

“Sir... Darling, was this what you were upset about all this time?”

“I thought if I just spent the day locked in my room and buried myself in my work, it would pass, but it didn’t. I thought it would go like it did before, when I was alone. I’d die, I’d come back, I’d be devastated, but after a while the pain wouldn’t cut as deep and I could go on to the next. I could just win everything back. That was the fun part, working for it and proving I could do it all again. That and sheer spite were the two reasons I kept on living after the floods came and I had nobody left. But now you’re here, and everything is different. The first time I died when you were around, I figured you’d move on. You’re a handsome man; it wouldn’t have been that hard.”

“You’d be surprised,” said Ghirahim, “You’re the only one who ever stayed.”

“I gave you my power so you could go off and be happy…and maybe ruin the Princess’ day in the process. But then you came back. No, not only did you come back, you stole the Triforce from your creator’s heir and spat in the eye of your entire people to wish me back to life. You gave up everything and ended up with nobody because of me.”

“Well, that depends on your definition of ‘nobody.’ I have you.”

“What would you do if I weren’t here?”

“Wander the earth, perhaps. It’s not like I need food or shelter all that much, anyways. I did it back before the first Hyrule was even founded, I could probably do it again. If nothing else, this time it would be a bit less lonely.”

“But it’s not just about travel and acquaintances. Do you even realize what it means to forsake your family and your entire people for something you believed in?”

“Darling, there may have been people you missed when you were exiled, but nobody I left behind was worth missing. Everyone I knew was either dead or turned out to not be what I thought they were. The people within Demise’s court who I considered my dearest friends did not share my sentiments. They saw me more as a novelty and a source of amusement. I thought their laughter was an appreciation of my wit, but really they only invited me along so they could have a laugh at the fool who thought he was equal to a flesh-and-blood demon when everyone else considered him a mere weapon. The Chancellor was also planning on having me decommissioned, and Malladus would have let him do it. He didn’t even care that I was his birthright; all he wanted was whatever shiny new toy the Chancellor could replace me with. I can assure you, the decision was much less fraught for me than it was for you.”

Ganon sighed and shifted, being careful not to drop Ghirahim onto the floor.

“When I was but a boy I dreamed and hoped and wished for a man who would go to hell and back for me. And for a while, I gave up, thinking it a childish fancy. But then you came along, and you turned out to be the man I was waiting for, but nothing is as I thought it would be. You’re stuck with me, for better or worse, and you’re going to be dragged into the thick of the consequences of my every endeavor. Whatever happens to you is my fault, and the fault of the chains of my own fate. That responsibility weighed on me. And whenever I looked at you, I remembered what happened to so many others who were foolish enough to let themselves care: my mothers, the men who got too close, the countless friends and subjects I had lost. And in my mind their fates played out upon you in a parade of ghastly images, and it made me sick. I wanted to forget, so I ran into my quarters and shut everything out. You’ve spent the better part of this week thinking I despised you, when that could not be further from the truth. I’m sorry.” He laughed bitterly, “And here you are asking me if it’s something you did wrong, always worrying that you’ve screwed up. But, gods, look at _me_. I can’t even bring myself to tell you how much I love you unless you all but strap me down and interrogate me. How pathetic!”

It pained him so to see his husband so upset. And yet, as he saw him begin to weep, a shiver of joy ran through him. His Master would not have fretted so. Were Ghirahim destroyed, he could have easily replaced him with another blade, one that might have been even more capable in their duties. But Ganon considered him irreplaceable, and not simply because he lacked the means to forge a living blade of his own. He crawled up to the king’s shoulder and knelt there for a moment. He could not answer with what he thought would make his tears stop. If he spent any more time thinking about which answer was correct he would sit there in silence and the moment would pass. Instead, he would answer with what he himself wished would be true.

Ghirahim breathed deep, and then said, “That won’t happen. I can assure you that I will do everything in my power to survive, should the worst come to pass. While they’re all laughing and reveling and dancing over your grave, I will hide, I will regroup, and I will wait. And when the day comes, I will gather your ashes and anoint them with the blood of their descendants. As your body reforms and life flows back into you, the first thing you will see upon waking is me. And I will do it as many times as it takes.” At this, he reached out and caressed the king’s cheek. “This I promise you.”

Tears still welled up in the creature’s golden eyes, but he was smiling. He picked up Ghirahim with his right hand to place him back onto his chest, and then wrapped his arms around him like a child hugging his favorite doll. He smelled of roses.

“Thank you,” he whispered, kissing his much smaller husband lightly on the top of his silver head.

“It’s no trouble at all. I walked into hell for you, and I would gladly do it again. Now go to sleep, you miserable old man. I’ve had a talk with the cooks. Tomorrow morning you’ll have a breakfast so sumptuous you’ll need a mid-morning nap to recover.”

And so he did. Ghirahim, on the other hand, did not need sleep. The silence and stillness was strange to someone who was always moving, but tonight he welcomed them both. Yes, the day would come when the windows would shatter and the dreadful army came storming in, but tomorrow was not that day. For now he was content to lie there in the arms of his beloved, to listen to the sound of his breathing, and to count every beat of his heart until morning.


End file.
